Desire, Will, Action, Destiny

It is not what we should, but what we want to do that matters. All our lives we are told how we should act and how to be. This is a good thing, because you cannot grow up to be the best you can be without someone to guide you along. But you will never be the person your destiny is waiting for unless you have something to strive for. Have a Desire, turn it into you never ending Will, make it a Reality, and realize your Destiny. I'm one of a kind, I always know what i should do, but it doesn't always fell like the right way. I do things how I think best and no one will tell me otherwise.

[destinywaitingapproval]

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[thelunarboy]

[thelunarboy]

[lesbiansandboromir]

“What is a man’s life worth?” Dalinar asked softly. “The slavemasters say one is worth about two emerald broams,” Kaladin said, frowning. “And what do you say?” “A life is priceless,” he said immediately, quoting his father. Dalinar smiled, wrinkle lines extending from the corners of his eyes. “Coincidentally, that is the exact value of a Shardblade. So today, you and your men sacrificed to buy me twenty-six hundred priceless lives. And all I had to repay you with was a single priceless sword. I call that a bargain.” “You really think it was a good trade, don’t you?” Kaladin said, amazed. Dalinar smiled in a way that seemed strikingly paternal. 

- The Way of Kings, Brandon Sanderson

[destinywaitingapproval]

I love how as you read the series, you see both Dalinar and Kaladin grow into better men. Kal cant believe there is a good honest brightlord and Dalinar struggles being a good man.

[destinywaitingapproval]

Destiny

You are what your deep, driving desire is. As your desire is, so is your will. As your will is, so is your deed. As your deed is, so is your destiny. Beautiful words! Everything we do is based on what we want to do. What is our Ulitmate Goal. Is it Love, Family, Friends, Money, Fame, or is something just so simple as to feel Satisfied every now and again. To feel Proud about something you have done. The quote above says everything I have ever wanted to say. It starts with wanting to be something and acting accordingly. No one can tell me i can’t do it, I’ll just prove them wrong. And if that will to do something is strong enough I make it into reality. I make it apart of my life. I shape my own Destiny. No Man shapes anothers Destiny. To each his own. Either watch me crash and burn or stand behind me and watch me forge my path through the Universe. Stand Beside me or regret letting me go!

[destinywaitingapproval]

Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up. 

Arepo built a temple in his field, a humble thing, some stones stacked up to make a cairn, and two days later a god moved in. 

“Hope you’re a harvest god,” Arepo said, and set up an altar and burnt two stalks of wheat. “It’d be nice, you know.” He looked down at the ash smeared on the stone, the rocks all laid askew, and coughed and scratched his head. “I know it’s not much,” he said, his straw hat in his hands. “But - I’ll do what I can. It’d be nice to think there’s a god looking after me.” 

The next day he left a pair of figs, the day after that he spent ten minutes of his morning seated by the temple in prayer. On the third day, the god spoke up. 

“You should go to a temple in the city,” the god said. Its voice was like the rustling of the wheat, like the squeaks of fieldmice running through the grass. “A real temple. A good one. Get some real gods to bless you. I’m no one much myself, but I might be able to put in a good word?” It plucked a leaf from a tree and sighed. “I mean, not to be rude. I like this temple. It’s cozy enough. The worship’s been nice. But you can’t honestly believe that any of this is going to bring you anything.” 

“This is more than I was expecting when I built it,” Arepo said, laying down his scythe and lowering himself to the ground. “Tell me, what sort of god are you anyway?” 

“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth. I’m a god of a dozen different nothings, scraps that lead to rot, momentary glimpses. A change in the air, and then it’s gone.” 

The god heaved another sigh. “There’s no point in worship in that, not like War, or the Harvest, or the Storm. Save your prayers for the things beyond your control, good farmer. You’re so tiny in the world. So vulnerable. Best to pray to a greater thing than me.” 

Arepo plucked a stalk of wheat and flattened it between his teeth. “I like this sort of worship fine,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll continue.” 

“Do what you will,” said the god, and withdrew deeper into the stones. “But don’t say I never warned you otherwise.” 

Arepo would say a prayer before the morning’s work, and he and the god contemplated the trees in silence. Days passed like that, and weeks, and then the Storm rolled in, black and bold and blustering. It flooded Arepo’s fields, shook the tiles from his roof, smote his olive tree and set it to cinder. The next day, Arepo and his sons walked among the wheat, salvaging what they could. The little temple had been strewn across the field, and so when the work was done for the day, Arepo gathered the stones and pieced them back together. 

“Useless work,” the god whispered, but came creeping back inside the temple regardless. “There wasn’t a thing I could do to spare you this.” 

“We’ll be fine,” Arepo said. “The storm’s blown over. We’ll rebuild. Don’t have much of an offering for today,” he said, and laid down some ruined wheat, “but I think I’ll shore up this thing’s foundations tomorrow, how about that?” 

The god rattled around in the temple and sighed. 

A year passed, and then another. The temple had layered walls of stones, a roof of woven twigs. Arepo’s neighbors chuckled as they passed it. Some of their children left fruit and flowers. And then the Harvest failed, the gods withdrew their bounty. In Arepo’s field the wheat sprouted thin and brittle. People wailed and tore their robes, slaughtered lambs and spilled their blood, looked upon the ground with haunted eyes and went to bed hungry. Arepo came and sat by the temple, the flowers wilted now, the fruit shriveled nubs, Arepo’s ribs showing through his chest, his hands still shaking, and murmured out a prayer. 

“There is nothing here for you,” said the god, hudding in the dark. “There is nothing I can do. There is nothing to be done.” It shivered, and spat out its words. “What is this temple but another burden to you?” 

“We -” Arepo said, and his voice wavered. “So it’s a lean year,” he said. “We’ve gone through this before, we’ll get through this again. So we’re hungry,” he said. “We’ve still got each other, don’t we? And a lot of people prayed to other gods, but it didn’t protect them from this. No,” he said, and shook his head, and laid down some shriveled weeds on the altar. “No, I think I like our arrangement fine.” 

“There will come worse,” said the god, from the hollows of the stone. “And there will be nothing I can do to save you.” 

The years passed. Arepo rested a wrinkled hand upon the temple of stone and some days spent an hour there, lost in contemplation with the god. 

And one fateful day, from across the wine-dark seas, came War. 

Arepo came stumbling to his temple now, his hand pressed against his gut, anointing the holy site with his blood. Behind him, his wheat fields burned, and the bones burned black in them. He came crawling on his knees to a temple of hewed stone, and the god rushed out to meet him. 

“I could not save them,” said the god, its voice a low wail. “I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so so sorry.” The leaves fell burning from the trees, a soft slow rain of ash. “I have done nothing! All these years, and I have done nothing for you!” 

“Shush,” Arepo said, tasting his own blood, his vision blurring. He propped himself up against the temple, forehead pressed against the stone in prayer. “Tell me,” he mumbled. “Tell me again. What sort of god are you?” 

“I -” said the god, and reached out, cradling Arepo’s head, and closed its eyes and spoke. 

“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said, and conjured up the image of them. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth.” Arepo’s lips parted in a smile. 

“I am the god of a dozen different nothings,” it said. “The petals in bloom that lead to rot, the momentary glimpses. A change in the air -” Its voice broke, and it wept. “Before it’s gone.” 

“Beautiful,” Arepo said, his blood staining the stones, seeping into the earth. “All of them. They were all so beautiful.” 

And as the fields burned and the smoke blotted out the sun, as men were trodden in the press and bloody War raged on, as the heavens let loose their wrath upon the earth, Arepo the sower lay down in his humble temple, his head sheltered by the stones, and returned home to his god. 

  Sora found the temple with the bones within it, the roof falling in upon them. 

“Oh, poor god,” she said, “With no-one to bury your last priest.” Then she paused, because she was from far away. “Or is this how the dead are honored here?” The god roused from its contemplation. 

“His name was Arepo,” it said, “He was a sower.” 

Sora startled, a little, because she had never before heard the voice of a god. “How can I honor him?” She asked.

“Bury him,” the god said, “Beneath my altar.”

“All right,” Sora said, and went to fetch her shovel.

“Wait,” the god said when she got back and began collecting the bones from among the broken twigs and fallen leaves. She laid them out on a roll of undyed wool, the only cloth she had. “Wait,” the god said, “I cannot do anything for you. I am not a god of anything useful.” 

Sora sat back on her heels and looked at the altar to listen to the god.

“When the Storm came and destroyed his wheat, I could not save it,” the god said, “When the Harvest failed and he was hungry, I could not feed him. When War came,” the god’s voice faltered. “When War came, I could not protect him. He came bleeding from the battle to die in my arms.” Sora looked down again at the bones.

“I think you are the god of something very useful,” she said.

“What?” the god asked.

Sora carefully lifted the skull onto the cloth. “You are the god of Arepo.”

  Generations passed. The village recovered from its tragedies—homes rebuilt, gardens re-planted, wounds healed. The old man who once lived on the hill and spoke to stone and rubble had long since been forgotten, but the temple stood in his name. Most believed it to empty, as the god who resided there long ago had fallen silent. Yet, any who passed the decaying shrine felt an ache in their hearts, as though mourning for a lost friend. The cold that seeped from the temple entrance laid their spirits low, and warded off any potential visitors, save for the rare and especially oblivious children who would leave tiny clusters of pink and white flowers that they picked from the surrounding meadow.

The god sat in his peaceful home, staring out at the distant road, to pedestrians, workhorses, and carriages, raining leaves that swirled around bustling feet. How long had it been? The world had progressed without him, for he knew there was no help to be given. _The world must be a cruel place, that even the useful gods have abandoned, if farms can flood, harvests can run barren, and homes can burn, _he thought.

He had come to understand that humans are senseless creatures, who would pray to a god that cannot grant wishes or bless upon them good fortune. Who would maintain a temple and bring offerings with nothing in return. Who would share their company and meditate with such a fruitless deity. Who would bury a stranger without the hope for profit. What bizarre, futile kindness they had wasted on him. What wonderful, foolish, virtuous, hopeless creatures, humans were.

So he painted the sunset with yellow leaves, enticed the worms to dance in their soil, flourished the boundary between forest and field with blossoms and berries, christened the air with a biting cold before winter came, ripened the apples with crisp, red freckles to break under sinking teeth, and a dozen other nothings, in memory of the man who once praised the god’s work on his dying breath.

“Hello, God of Every Humble Beauty in the World,” called a familiar voice.

The squinting corners of the god’s eyes wept down onto curled lips. “Arepo,” he whispered, for his voice was hoarse from its hundred-year mutism.

“I am the god of devotion, of small kindnesses, of unbreakable bonds. I am the god of selfless, unconditional love, of everlasting friendships, and trust,” Arepo avowed, soothing the other with every word.

“That’s wonderful, Arepo,” he responded between tears, “I’m so happy for you—such a powerful figure will certainly need a grand temple. Will you leave to the city to gather more worshippers? You’ll be adored by all.”

“No,” Arepo smiled.

“Farther than that, to the capitol, then? Thank you for visiting here before your departure.”

“No, I will not go there, either,” Arepo shook his head and chuckled.

“Farther still? What ambitious goals, you must have. There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed, though,” the elder god continued.

“Actually,” interrupted Arepo, “I’d like to stay here, if you’ll have me.”

The other god was struck speechless. “…. Why would you want to live here?”

“I am the god of unbreakable bonds and everlasting friendships. And you are the god of Arepo.”

[aliothfr]

Gundam Wing Zero Custom, Gundam Wing Endless Waltz

[destinywaitingapproval]

An angelic Gundam 

[cupnoodles]

[destinywaitingapproval]

The will to fight on till the end

[gilded-dragon]

JACE BELEREN

Jace wields blue mental magic: spells of illusion, deception, and mind reading. With nearly unlimited access to knowledge comes the temptation of power …

Curiosity has always gotten the better of Jace Beleren. As a magical prodigy, he delved into lessons of sorcery deeper than his fellow students, succeeding to the point that even his instructors were suspicious.

As a specialist in mind magic, he can gaze into the minds of others, discovering even closely guarded secrets. This has led him down dangerous paths more than once, and as a Planeswalker, there’s a whole multiverse of secrets to discover.

His skills in illusion, mind reading, and even memory modification have flourished during his travels, giving him ever broader access to the hidden knowledge he craves.

On a return trip to Ravnica, Jace honed his abilities as a mind mage while working for the interplanar organization Infinite Consortium. With Ravnica’s ten guilds back in power, guild intrigue has reached new heights. Jace suspects a deep conspiracy involving the dragon Niv-Mizzet—a plot with secrets so dangerous that Jace’s mind magic might get him into more trouble than even he can handle.

[alicewhitemoon]

Planeswalkers Pantheon by Cryptcrawler

[heartsnmagic]

[comic-view]

Auto Avengers: Loki

Auto Avengers: Iron Man

Auto Avenger: Captain America

Auto Avengers: Hulk

Auto Avengers: Thor

Auto Avenger: Doom

[destinywaitingapproval]

Amends

I am not weak by any means.

I do my best to be true

I do not cheat

I do not stare

I don’t know everything

I am simply Incomplete

 I have felt love

I have been afraid

I have made mistakes

I have felt regret

I have failed

I am simply Incomplete

 I am learning

I am getting stronger

I am kind

I am sorry

I am here

I have found a final piece to my puzzle

You

[destinywaitingapproval]

At first glance, the key and the lock it fits may seem very different, different in shape, different in function, different in design. The man who looks at them without knowledge of their true nature might think them opposites, foe one meant to open, the other to keep closed. Yet, upon closer examination, he might see that without one, the other becomes useless. The wise man then sea that both lock and key were created for the same purpose.

Sazed to Elend

[destinywaitingapproval]

Your Promise

When I thought I knew it all You came and broke it all down You changed my world You changed my life You changed my ways

Nothing I knew could be the same But then you Promised everything would be ok

Your Life will still be the same Your Eyes will still Shine the same Show me your Smile that will not Change

[destinywaitingapproval]

I would see stars in the night

I would look up into the sky and think she’s looking up right now! I would lift my head and look straight at the moon and think maybe she is too! I would see the stars in the night and think of you! I would grasp the entire universe in my vision and see only you!

[david-tennants-little-fangirl]

Make Me Choose: Anonymous asked 9 or 11

[destinywaitingapproval]

Is it just me or is he the only one to not care how embarrassing he is just as long as he is having a good time.